


Dust to Dust

by Pavuvu



Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Mass Effect
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Dark, Gen, Mass Effect 2, Shep is a sad cookie, but he tries, cannon character death
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-23
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-02-14 08:13:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 6,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2184387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Pavuvu/pseuds/Pavuvu
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Cerberus manages to bring Shepard back to life, but he’s a body without a daemon. The aliens hardly notice, but the humans, the humans call him unnatural, a demon. They can’t see the dust that collects on his skin like pond scum on still water or feel the pain of a missing soul. They call him demon and he finds no lies in their assessment.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. I will show you fear in a handful of dust

**Author's Note:**

> The First chapter of this fic will jump around. The Following chapters will be more sensibly laid out.

Humans caused quite the stir when they first arrived on the citadel. Outsiders with talking beasts that hardly left their sides.  They eyed the citizens of Citadel space with looks that both spoke disgust and distrust, and their whispers pronounced them demons.  Their animal companions either shrank in fear or snarled with hackles raised, their lips moved and each pronounced. Soulless.

///>>><<<\\\\\

He could hear himself wheeze, breath scraping through his lungs like sandpaper over rough stone.  Air was leaking from his helmet faster than the ruptured life support system could fill it, and the sound of sucking lungs in his ears was enough to tell him how long he had. His limbs flailed and shook, and he tried to patch the splits in the tubing but it wasn’t working it just wasn’t working.

His mouth opened in a scream, a single name over and over until the air entirely departed from his helmet and the pull on his body and the pain in his heart grew too much for a split soul to take and the man known as Shepard departed from this world and his Daemon still trapped on the corpse of the Normandy burst from her form into a miniaturized galaxy of Dust.

///>>><<<\\\\\

 

The 314 Incident was fast but brutal. Most fighting took place between ships, but the contested colony of Shanxi was where the two species met face to face for the first time.

The Turians with their advanced armor and weaponry lead a slaughter, in their ease of killing they hardly noticed how the new alien’s beasts evaporated before one’s eyes with the passing of their humans.

When the fighting settled down, the Turians and the Humans got their first good look at each other. The humans hugged their animals close, and stared pale faced at the tall crested creatures.

The Turian commander sent a report to Turian High Command, noting, _Each Human is accompanied by an animal, the type and breed seems random. The creatures do seem to possess intelligence and the ability to speak, High possibility of extensive genetic modification on the animals of their planet. Best ensure restriction placed on more genetic modification experiments in this races future._

They never would have guessed the truth.

///>>><<<\\\\\

Cerberus did their best in putting him back together, but no one, no doctor, or holy man, had ever been able to turn loose dust back into a Daemon. This for a long time was a fact that burned holes in the back of Miranda’s mind.

She could restore bone, muscle, even brain tissue, but restoring a _soul,_ even a perfect woman couldn’t do that.

///>>><<<\\\\\

The peace talks between the Humans and the Council were long and rough, the overwhelming force of the council ensured they got the best end of the deal. There was one thing however the humans were unwilling to budge on.

No being is to touch, talk to, or interact with a humans Daemon without the humans express permission.

They would not explain why. 

///>>><<<\\\\\

By the time Shepard had joined the military after living out his childhood in the slums of earth, The Council had been informed of what exactly a daemon was, and why it was entirely prohibited to touch them without permission.

Tensions regarding the apparent soullessness of the races of the Citadel had died down once humans came to the conclusion that their souls must reside within. (The poor unfortunate beings, to not know the joy of one’s own soul)

///>>><<<\\\\\

There are plenty of pictures of Shepard Daemon. This is a fact that drives Miranda’s research into the thing that can’t be done.  She has studies pictures of the daemon from Alliance profiles, dossiers of the Illusive Man himself, even candid shots taken after Shepard was proclaimed savior of the Citadel.  She researched all she could about known factors of Dust and its collection to no avail.

She doesn’t know why she is as disappointed as she is. Even the Illusive man wrote off the recovery of the daemon as impossible.


	2. chew dust and bitter ash

There is a bright light that burns his eyes even as his lungs burn in his chest. There is a shriek in his ear that is drowned by rushing blood, and none of it does anything to assuage the agony currently crumbling in his bones and rushing through his veins. The empty pounding of his heart speaks one desire. _Tam. Tam. Tam._

A face appears above, haloed by light, and then darkness strikes at his gaze, and he is sliding back, empty into darkness.

He awakes again, later this time; there is no rapid heaving for air, only an alarming emptiness in his mind. A voice speaks to him from on high. Get up, get the armor, get up, get out.

He follows those words. There is nothing else.

He meets a man with a soul in the shape of a Labrador and biotic powers strong enough to do minor damage to the mechs across the way.

The voice on the intercom stops, but it speaks nothing of death. The woman, when Shepard finally meets her, is something of a surprise. A door opens and there she is with an ermine perched on her shoulder, hissing through sharp fangs at the man who clutches a star nosed mole to his chest. The confrontation last no longer than a split second. A gunshot, a body hits the floor and a daemon is gone. 

Shepard doesn’t blink, feels no sorrow or regret, just empty agony.

Time moves on disjointed legs. All smeary lines and loose water color. Events come and pass, and he finds it hard to focus, clarity entering his eyes only through direct interaction. He can see the frown that marred Miranda’s face, and the way her daemon hisses low and fast in her ear.

Jacob and Miranda interrogate him or at least they try. They ask questions that receive minimal answers, words coming from a body that knows what to say but hardly feels the emotion it should be expressing. His childlhood. Earthborn, Gang Member, joined the alliance for shits and giggles one drunken night, ended up liking it, ended up staying. Virmire? Lost Ashley, overwhelming forces, too bad really, he owed her lunch from a bet long lost.

They take him to a space station, and direct him down a hall and into a communications room. He is scanned and suddenly the space changes. All red and blue from a dying sun, its surface molten like the insides of a once frozen pizza roll just out the oven _. Best let cool, you’ll burn your tongue_ , a new squad mate told him once, Shep thinks he died on Akuze, hard to tell these days.

The man who sits in the shadow of the sun likes to smoke. His hand trailing fire as the cigarette is brought to his lips then waved about to make a point. He has a daemon that stretches out behind his chair, all glinting eyes, and sinuous body. Some type of large cat, though Shepard can’t tell the breed with the harsh lighting.

This man. This Illusive Man has some sort of request to make. _Wont you look into it Shepard. We did rebuild you Shepard. For Humanity Shepard._

A compromise is met, and he turns and leaves, his tongue tasting bitter in his mouth.

///>>><<<\\\\\

Shepard finds himself on Freedom’s Progress, the colony devoid of human life though radios still spit music, food left untouched on tables or burnt to a hard carbon on the still operating stovetops. They run into security drones, but no humans, no Collectors. Nothing on the Illusive Man’s list and Miranda is getting angrier as they go on. She almost shoots when a door to a prefab home springs open.

Quarians. Guns raised, suited tight. Not the reason for the disappearance. Too lightly armed, not enough to take out a whole colony and then there is

Tali

And for a moment he feels something. A looseness in his chest that isn’t the pull of Separation, but is _something_.  He begins to smile, but then she moves and that loose feeling compresses around his lungs, and he feels the missing pull of his soul acute.

His fingers tense and curl, and there is no furred shoulder to touch, to check in with. Just him.

Tali seemed to have started the conversation without him or maybe it’s he who lost track of it.

 “You’ve been gone two years Commander.” The Quarian’s silver eyes meet his through her mask. “And now I find your working for Cerberus. I want to trust you, Shepard, but I can’t, not like this.” Her face turns from his and the mask takes in his companions, assessing them all with quick strokes of her eyes. 

She slows and turns back to him, voice wavering just like it did when they first met, “Commander?” She gestured at his side, “Where’s Tamesis?”

It always took aliens a second viewing to notice ones soul. Having joint body and soul did that to a species.

His shoulder rises despondently. “I woke up. She wasn’t there.”  His fingers clench around themselves and were it not for the armor plating at his fingertips his short nails would bite at his palms.

 “I’m sorry, I knew she meant…”

Miranda has heard enough and her voice soared over his left shoulder.  “We have to move Commander. Those colonists need to be found.”

If Tali was offended she hid it well behind her mask, ignoring the Cerberus Operative, and tilting her head imploringly at her old Captain.

“The Colonists are gone. But there is something you can help me with Commander.”

He would help her, of course he would.

On Freedoms progress they find no human colonists, just a Quarian hiding away.  If he had a daemon, it would be a hummingbird, Shepard decided as Tali led the quivering alien away, a hummingbird who never sat still, just buzzed and buzzed and buzzed.

///>>><<<\\\\\

They returned to the Minuteman station, with little good to share and a firmer knowledge of the dangers on the horizon. Miranda directed Shepard to the Illusive Man when they reached base, and the body shambled away if not contentedly, at least obediently.

The dark haired woman sat hard on a stool to her left and sighed. Her hands smoothing the short fur of her soul. “He’s not the same person.”

“No,” Jacob agreed sitting down next to her, His daemon Adil brushing the floor with her long tail, her boxy head resting heavily on his thigh. “I never thought… it would be _that_ bad, being without a soul, but he’s just…”

“Nothing.” Miranda supplied, disappointment creeping up inside her as all the work she put into the past two years rolled to a stop like a sedan hit by a semi. She sighed again and made sure to bring her head up proudly, if only for the show. “At the very least, he’s still good at shooting things.”

Jacob let out a breath of a laugh. “Yeah, there’s that at least.”

One of the large doors whooshed open and Jeff Monroe, the SR-2’s would be pilot hobbled into view. He gave the two Cerberus operatives a smile more akin to a grimace and disappeared down the hallway that Shepard had walked through. The Illusive Man must have finished with Shepard and decided that the man was at least mentally stable enough to proceed as planned.  That or he didn’t want to see a few billion dollars go totally to waste.

 But money isn’t everything, and if Miranda were in charge. This thing masquerading as the Commander wouldn’t have made it two steps off Freedoms Progress.


	3. This dusty barren land had given all

When Joker walked into his line of sight, Shepard couldn't help but feel that the Illusive Man was trying to pull an extended, elaborate ruse. It was not that he was displeased to see his old pilot, quite the opposite in fact, but he could not help but falter at seeing Joker _here_.

“Well would you look at this!” The pilot cried, hands spread, mouth wide in toothy grin. “All put back together again Humpty Dumpty?”

Shepard’s lips twitched into a smile of their own, “Joker, didn't expect to see you here. Ships not fast enough back with the Alliance?”

“Not when they don’t let you fly them.” A scoffing breath left his mouth along with the smile. “Cerberus would, which is why I ended up here. As I’m sure you’re wondering.”

“There is a ship though,” A black banded face appeared over the gingers shoulder, and a raccoon clambered up to rest around his neck, “That we think you’d like you see.”

Had Tamesis still been at his side the comment would have been directed at her and the two daemons would have made an enthused greeting, but as it was, Shep was left to pick up the pieces.

“Mina, I trust you’ve managed to keep Joker from doing anything too stupid?”

The little raccoon snorted and flicked her banded tail. “You say that likes it easy Commander. I’m sure Tam would feel the same, were she here to tell.”

Joker has led him all this time, through a maze of twisting halls, each as white and unremarkable as the one before, until finally they entered a holding dock. The scattered stars of space visible through the mass effect field blocked hangar, but that was not the most stunning feature of the space.

There was a ship, painted white and black and yellow as opposed to the Alliance Blue, but still a ship well known. A frigate class vessel, larger, newer, less scrapes and dings, but still visually the same ship as the old Normandy.  Throat tight, Shep turned to Joker, and he could see why the man had left the Alliance.

“They only told me about her last night.” Monroe said, eyes gleaming. “She needs a name.”

Shepard saw a ship breaking before him, flashes of light as consoles tore from the power source and went out. Bursts of hot fire as pipelines ruptured, and an endless tear and pull. “I know just the thing.”

///>>><<<\\\\\

They found themselves orbiting outside Omega, waiting for clearance to land.  The Commander stood behind Jokers chair and tried to ignore the whispers of the crew behind him and the rustle of their daemons. Ever since he stepped on board the Cerberus crew found itself in a tizzy. All quick glances, and drawn breaths, which would be sucked in and held until he past far away enough that they felt comfortable enough to turn to their friends and enter into heated debate.

‘Jesus Christ!” They would say, “No Daemon? Though it was just rumor. How do they expect us to work like this? How can they expect the mission to…?”

Then they’d shut up again, with the same drawn breath and shifty eye, as he circled by, fiddling with the Galaxy Map, brushing off Kelly and her Meer Kat.  Just orbiting the same loop he had started since coming on board.

Joker, the CIC, the mess, Dr. Chakwas, the CIC, and then Joker. Over and over again. Never stopping, never smiling, his feet just wearing a rut into the metal floor.

Neurotic, some said. Bored, said others. Lonely, Joker and Chakwas confided with their souls.

///>>><<<\\\\\

The Normandy docked on Omega, an outlaw’s last hideaway ruled by slum lords and space pirates. No more dimensional than a location from an action movie made real. Shep starts on the mining colony with Jacob and Miranda hovering at his side. By the time he meets Aria, self-proclaimed queen, he has a mercenary with him instead. Even with his time purchased by the Illusive Man, Shepard knows that a Jackal is better suited for this than a Labrador or Ermine. A man with a soul like that, Shepard knows is one who was meant to survive.

He and Zaeed and the Jackal Atalaya go deep into the asteroid, into places thick with discord. Breathing enough plague into their lungs to bring another species to its knees they charge onward. Through the air heavy with the taste of engine exhaust and burst soul.  They pull triggers, and break into apartments, and find it in themselves to eradicate the plague once and for all.

They return to the ship with a plus one, a scientist Salarian, who spouts words like a rapid typewriter, and greeted Shep with a, “Human without a daemon ? Interesting. Would like to study that.”

The man in question didn’t care to tell Mordin that he would have the same amount of luck with that line of research as everyone else.

A sleep cycle later found them making a second run though Omega, different this time, with Aria directing them toward a Mercenary feud.

Shepard knew it amused her that all of the mercenaries were scared enough to join forces. That humor hitting a similar nerve when Aria felt she could order him around. Commander Shepard, The Savior of the Citadel, at her beck and call. Errand boy, he could see the words whisper through her mind, no mind meld necessary.

There was no part of him that cared, only needed the information she possessed. What did it matter to him if he helped her crush a few skulls along the way? Zaeed would help him, their faces stretching into sharp edged smiles that pulled at their scars. Kindred spirits, some would say. He had a similar relationship with a Krogan back on the first Normandy, where blood and bullets made better bonds than halfhearted dialogue.

Mordin tagged along, deadly with sidearm and Omni tool. He was clinical in his dispatching of the enemy, ticking lives off like sliders on an abacus. His amphibian eyes following the two humans like he could dissect them by their actions.  See into their being, simply by measuring their movements. Shepard knew him for an owl.

At the end of the bridge he found a face long missed. His smile for the first time in weeks was neither forced, nor brought on by bloodshed.

His hand clasped around an armored forearm, name sneaking through his lips, even as bullets flew by their heads.

“Garrus. Is it normal on Palaven to try and shoot old friends?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the lack of updates. I stupidly started writing this just before semester started and got lost under a pile of work shortly after. 
> 
> A quick run down of Established Daemons:
> 
> Shepard- Tamesis:dark one- english--(unknown)
> 
> Joker- Mina- strongwilled warrior- english-- North American Raccoon
> 
> Jacob- Adil- fair, honest- Arabic--Labrador Retriever
> 
> Miranda- Kamali- perfection- Arabic--Ermine
> 
> Zaeed – Atalaya- Arabic- watchtower --Golden Jackal


	4. In the madness and the soil of that sad earthly scene

When Garrus first comes to, he thinks he’s dead. For a few moments he lay on the cold slab of metal, head tilted just enough to cause the nerve in his neck to jump and pinch as he contemplates the ceiling tiles. They are a certain grey, pale, slightly speckled, like sand was brushed over the surface before they dried.

Garrus knew that ceiling, not intimately, but well enough.  Medbay, Normandy. But it was impossible, he knew, Normandy was gone, no more ship, therefore no more Medbay ceiling. So to be seeing this ceiling again could only mean one thing. He was dead. The Mercenary forces on Omega finally took him down. About time.

But then his eye caught a discrepancy. There was a spot high on the far wall that should have been stained an off- orange from a particularly geyser like puncture Wrex had sustained culling Rachnai, that was perfectly clean. Dr. Chakwas had disparaged over the stain, scrubbing at it with all kinds of bleach and solvents to no avail.

A twitch of his fingers, and he can feel warm plastic under the tips of his draconian fingers. There is enough of a sound to attract the doctor. The older woman who wandered to his bedside was all clinical precision with a tired strain around the eyes.

“Mr. Vakarian, I trust you are with us?”

He released a low thrum in his throat, face too numb to make the sound by vibrating his mandibles. “Depends. I don’t remember you dying with the Normandy, but our location says otherwise.”

There is a heavy thump and a large tom cat settles onto a medical bed just to his right. Garrus can see him out of the corner of his eye. Sleek, grey, large of body, short of fur, and weighty around the stomach like a well fed hunter.  “Hmm. Still delirious, I’d say.” The cat’s green eyes narrowed, head tilting, just as one battered ear flicked.

“Thank you Valentin, your opinion has been duly noted.” Chakwas returned, her voice filled with that self-amused thrum she hid so well from human ears.

“Not dead then.” Garrus accepts, blinking slowly,” Do all Alliance ships have the same med bay then?”

“No. Mr. Vakarian, we doctors aren’t that fortunate. You’re on the Normandy. Well, a Normandy. Version two, I suppose you could say.” She responded, even as she glossed her Omni-tool over his body, and keyed a few symbols.

“Shepard really is alive then. It wasn’t just delirium?” She must have had him on the good stuff, to be able to talk so much without the nerves in his face searing.

“Hmm?” She looked up from the orange screen. “Yes, the dear Commander is once again with us.”

He made a questioning noise deep in his throat which she ignored, choosing instead to start her inspection of him.

“Shepard was near beside himself when he brought you in. I haven’t seen him so worried in years. Not since Miss Williams had that encountered with a trip mine in the…Hades Gamma was it?”

She flashed a penlight in his eyes then made a gentle prod at his face. “Any pinching when you move here, Mr. Vakarian? No? Good. Then again the Commander hasn’t quite been himself since Cerberus brought him back. The effects of the Separation, I imagine. “

Her face was forcibly blank when she looked at him next, he could tell she was holding back what she truly wished to say from the tight creases at the corners of her mouth.

It was Valentin who said, “You’ll help keep an eye on him, won’t you?”

///>>><<<\\\\\

They wind up in space prison. Part of Garrus is sad to admit it wasn’t for something they did, though Spirits knows they probably deserve incarceration for all the shit they pulled.

Shepard has point, standing beside the Turian Warden, and looking down into the Cryo bay as they pull the biotic Jack from the Freeze.  Zaeed lounges nearby, one thumb brushing the stock of his Assault rifle, just as the other flicks indolently over the ear of his sand hued soul.

“Wasn’t expecting a girl.” The old Merc croaks, the Jackal by his side huffing air.

Garrus thrummed low in this throat in agreement, the most he could do with half a face, and the Warden spared him a displeased look.

Thirty seconds later, it all went south. The Biotic blasting out a wall, the Wardens betrayal, the burst of laughter that bubbled up from Shep’s lips before his teeth clamped firmly down and the chase was on.

Garrus was sad to admit it felt just like old times.

///>>><<<\\\\\

The Girl, when they finally convinced her into the shuttle that would take them back to the Normandy used her own soul as a footrest. Her legs stretching out over the spiny shell of the Alligator Snapping Turtle which just sighed at her actions, and rested the belly of its shell on the metal floor.

Garrus assumed this was a play to make herself more intimidating by taking up more room and found himself underwhelmed. If the fuckoff tattoos and bald head didn’t send the message, he figured little else would.

Shepard sat directly across from her, arms crossed, head tilted slightly in that way it did when he was measuring your worth. The tucked corners of his mouth told Garrus clear enough that he was displeased by what he found and the tight seal of his lips said he wasn’t going to do anything about it. Yet.

“You a witch?” Jack asked the open air, rocking her foot on the turtle shell.

“Hmm?” The three males echoed in an odd moment of synch which had them eying the others skeptically.

“You Shepard,” Jack gestured a quick stab of the finger. “Are you a witch?”

“No.” The answer was short and dull.

“Only dead things don’t have Daemons.”  Chewed up nailbeds brushed against her shoulder, her eyes on the action as if the next part of her sentence wasn’t meant to be deadly. “So what does that make you?”

The Shuttle lurched to a stop as it docked within the Normandy’s hanger, cutting the need for an answer. The Biotic shoved past them into the ship, levitating her turtle in a field of purple after her.

///>>><<<\\\\\

 “They made a memorial song for you.” Garrus broached as he stepped into the Commander’s quarters, fingers wrapped around the red canned soda he knew the man favored.

The human made an unattractive groaning noise then rolled his eyes, while his hand reached for the drink. “And you let them?”

“Wasn’t my decision,” Garrus sank down onto the faux leather couch, pulling out a tube of dextero-nutra paste, and squeezing a portion onto his tongue. “I just suffered through four months of it being ranked within the top ten on the charts”

“Great, another thing I’m gonna have to live with. At least tell me it was sung by someone decent.” Shepard bitched, waving the hand not holding the drink in the air. A quick flip flop gesture as if to clear the air, it was, Garrus noted, a purely human motion.

Garrus hummed, smiled, and then winced, as the mandible on the bad side of his face pulled too far, “No dice.” He said, borrowing a human expression. “It was Troy Swish.”

“I hate that guy.” Shepard said, falling onto the couch next to him, legs sprawling, fingers pulling at the tab on the can, until it finally released with a crisp hiss.  

“Yeah,” Garrus agreed easily enough, watching his old friend from the corner of his eye. “We were going to say something, but Wrex thought it was hilarious, so we let it go.”

“Well, if it made Wrex happy…” The human snipped, nose crinkling in distaste. “I guess I’ll let it slide.”

They were silent for a moment, as they ate their respective foods, and contemplated the stars visible in the skylight above the bed.

“That bother you?” Garrus gestured to the window with a claw, letting the _since you got spaced and all_ slide empty through the air.

A quick flick of Shepard’s eye drew Garrus’s attention to the iris, what should have been an icy blue that near matched his own, had gone a murky purple with the under laced cybernetics.

He waited a moment, as the flash memory passed his friends mind, saw the quick twitch at the corner of the mouth, and knew he wasn’t going to get an answer.

///>>><<<\\\\\

This new Normandy was tainted, Garrus found himself thinking, tainted by Cerberus, and the AI that monitored everything and nothing all at once. Tainted by the lack of things that should have been there, the little accent marks that made a place real and not just some Vid set. Wrex’s blood on the Medbay ceiling, the acid marks in the Docking Bay from a mod that went wrong, Pressley in the CIC, Adams down below. There should have been a nest made by a Quarian in the emergency route entrance by Engineering. He should have found Ashley’s books of poetry scattered about the Mess, and Kaiden tinkering with the panel by the room that was once Shepard’s.

The Normandy was tainted with the memories of what should have been and what wasn’t. And the more Garrus saw the more he was convinced he needed to grab the Commander and take him far, far way, to a place he didn’t have to try so hard to seem like himself, where he could just be, and grieve for the loss of that first Normandy, and the large black shadow that should have been at his side.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A List of Known Daemons: (in order of appearance)
> 
> Shepard- Tamesis: dark one- English--(unknown)
> 
> Jacob- Adil- fair, honest- Arabic--Labrador Retriever
> 
> Miranda- Kamali- perfection- Arabic--Ermine
> 
> The Illusive Man- (name unknown)--Big Cat (breed unknown)
> 
> Joker- Mina- strong-willed warrior- English-- North American Raccoon
> 
> Zaeed – Atalaya- Arabic- watchtower --Golden Jackal
> 
> Chakwas Valentin-English- strong healthy --Cat, Russian Blue
> 
> Jack- Alligator Snapping Turtle- If Jack’s daemon has a name, it’s not sharing. Even she only calls it “Hey You.” 
> 
>  
> 
> AN- Horrendously sorry about the wait, ensuring that I graduated College without my braining leaking from my ears was a struggle. Now with more free time, you should be seeing more of this story.


	5. Gathering Dust and of No Use to Anyone

The Citadel had always reminded Shepard of a crocus at partial bloom.  The five arms like half cracked petals, the Presidium ring the stigma. The dotted lights of each Ward blared loudly in in that empty segment of space, ships drifting around like bees laden with pollen.

Inside, the Citadel had more in common with rigid mechanics than nature. The endless metal halls, plastic window ports, and unyielding block like allocation of space. Customs was no different and with a long line stretching before him, the Commander couldn’t help but miss the first Normandy’s old hangar outside C-Sec. Hell, he even missed the old military docking bays and would gladly take back the regimented procedurals of those docks if it meant he never had to hear the words ‘are you carrying any produce or living specimens?” uttered again in his life.

Garrus stood to his left, clicking one mandible impatiently in what Shepard assumed to be the Turian equivalent to angry wordless ‘mmm’ing. A sound Miranda had made at least thrice in the past twenty minutes, since the squad and a majority of the crew disembarked the Normandy.

“The Illusive Man’s contact was supposed to meet us here five minutes ago.” Miranda said her Ermine, Kamali, a puff of pale fur around her neck.

“Patience is considered a Human virtue.” Mordin remarked, not taking his eyes from the scientific journal on his Omni. “Not a Salarian one of course. Life span too short.”

Shep heaved a sigh and looked longingly toward the bar Zaeed had fucked off too three seconds after seeing the customs line and its inevitable Elcore’s pace.

“If you’re so concerned about finding this contact you can go and look for them.” Shepard offered feeling magnanimous.

Miranda regarded him with an expression she seemed to use only for their alien squad mates. It was a tight eyed, lips pulled tight to teeth stare that said, ‘I don’t trust you to take a piss by yourself, let alone wander around without my supervision’.

Jack was the only one lucky enough to receive that glare with a side of murderous rage.

“Thank you Commander, but no.” Her arms crossed under her breasts and Shepard took it upon himself to regard her left earlobe.  

The line inched forward, and Garrus resumed clacking his mandible.

///>>><<<\\\\\

Bailey, the officer who received them once they made their way through the line, was a nice enough fellow, jocular and grey haired, with enough world weariness or just plain old common sense to know that not every law could, or had to be upheld. He registered Shepard’s living personhood with a few quips and a laugh at Shepard’s offhand comment of “I got better.”

“Ah Commander,” Bailey said just as they were about to leave. “Not that I need to know what happened to your daemon, but you should consider getting one of those carrying cases, for the delicate daemon types. Maybe it’ll help keep people from staring. “

Shepard teeth clenched and then loosened along with his expression. “I’ll think about it.”

The Coonhound laying by the C-Sec officer’s feet thumped its tail once as they left, but never bothered opening its eyes.

///>>><<<\\\\\

Mordin and Garrus departed their company when they past the shopping district, both needing to upgrade their armaments before another serious run in occurred. 

Shepard sent each a few thousand credits under the playful context of giving them their weekly allowance.

“Aw, Shucks,” Garrus joked, “You shouldn’t have.”

“And next time I won’t. It’s back to looting for your paycheck. There won’t be any handouts on my ship.” Shepard quipped.

“You always give me the nicest things commander.” The Turian responded as he drifted away, mandibles pulled tight to his face, and his eyes filled with something akin to remorse.

///>>><<<\\\\\

Though Anderson’s office occupied the same space as Udina’s old one the Captain had chosen to decorate in a much different mien. In place of earthly cityscapes were shadow boxes filled with military honors. Frames which one showed Udina in formal handshakes with other dignitaries now held the captain with military brass. Hackett gazed stoically in some, his half amused smile visible in others. On Anderson’s desk were portraits of his family, wife and kids smiling. The two girls were older than Shepard remembered, but wasn’t that just a fact of being dead?

Shepard made a mental note to check when the next major holiday was and order them a nice gift. Some halfhearted reparation for missing the last two birthdays. He always knew he’d make a shit godfather.

“I don’t know why I feel shocked you never called.” Anderson plunked a glass of something caramel colored and ice bearing in front of him.

“I didn’t know if you’d want to hear from me.” Shepard replied his eyes cast down. He could see the tip of Asteria’s nose peeking from around the desk.

There was a hard silence that Shepard filled with a mouthful of alcohol- Whiskey, Malkovich’s preferred brand. Possibly a congratulatory gift or a hope to curry political favor. Shepard would have to look into it.

“Son,” Anderson said, and there was that hint of disappointment Shepard had been waiting for all afternoon. “I pulled you from that pit you called a city. From a hole in the sand after the Maw attack. I think I deserve a goddam phone call.”

“Yes sir.” Shep’s fingers were pale and white knuckled around his glass. “It’s just… I’m not the same me. Not the one you knew, not really.”

He couldn’t look up, couldn’t make eye contact with the man he owed so much. He was a failure, he was nothing. Why did Anderson even bother with him? He was useless, a shadow of what he should have been. His hands trembled, why were they trembling? He didn’t…

A nose brushed his wrist, cold and wet. Asteria, her big German Shepard head resting momentarily on his knee. He thought, Oh! , and then he was overcome. The feeling of deep seated worry overwritten by fresh joy, old grief giving way to relief, the kind you feel in your bones and loosening tendons; then that sort of hopeful adoration that hits you when you meet an old friend in some unexpected place.

And Shepard’s breath hitched and his hand was held tight in Andersons, before the man pulled him in for a hug that denied all this military bearing and instead embraced the pictures on his desk. The more private moments that said father.

Until finally the shaking calmed, and Shep could breathe without his lungs squeezing against his rib cage and Anderson pulled away, giving his shoulder’s one last firm squeeze.

 “We never did get an exact read on what destroyed the Normandy. The surviving crew claimed it to be a giant ship, but one unlike Sovereign.” Anderson said, once they had returned to their whiskey and chairs.

“Cerberus seems to think it was the Collectors, and I’m inclined to agree.” The Commander put forth. Frowning even as the words left his mouth.

“Because you have proof or because they told you so?” Asteria asked.

That stalled Shepard, and he paused a moment before answering. “Because they said so.” He conceded, “I’m hoping to find more definite proof.”

“We received reports that you were on Freedom’s Progress following the disappearance. I assume this was on Cerberus’s direction?”  

“Yes. They asked me to look into the disappearances. So far that’s the only one I’ve been to personally. Most of my time has been spent collecting fighters for a suicide run against the Collector base.”

Asteria twitched and bared her fangs. “You’re going to throw your life away for Cerberus?”

Shepard shrugged but didn’t meet their eyes. “Maybe so.”

Anderson sipped the last of his whiskey and set the glass down with a sharp bang. “I would like to think I taught you better than to throw your life and your soldiers’ lives away.”

Asteria growled low in her throat. A disciplinary tone, Shepard had heard her employ more than once in his life.  

The older man stared him down before heaving a sigh. “You should do Admiral Hackett the honor of a phone call. I think he may have a mission for you…and Shepard?”

Their eyes met and held.                                                                       

 “Remember you are always welcome here.”

///>>><<<\\\\\

Miranda had waited in the hallway with arms crossed and a severe frown etched into her face. The expression remaining until they had slipped through the decontamination room onto the Normandy.

“We failed to make contact with the Illusive Man’s agent.” Miranda said as if it were his fault.

“Yes, so it seems that we did.” Shepard replied easily.

“They would have been a good asset.”

“Um,” Joker squeezed the brim of his hat as his chair swung about. “So you mean that little ninja chick setting up in the Portside observation room isn’t one of ours?”

“What!” Miranda yelped before charging away and Mina cackled from her perch on Joker’s headrest.

“You’re not going after her?” Joker asked.

“I’ll wait till the yelling’s stopped.”

Shep tapped his fingers against the back of Joker’s chair. “Can you see about setting up a vid meet with Admiral Hackett?”

///>>><<<\\\\\

Once Miranda had returned to her cabin, Shepard made his way down to the portside room. He knocked against the thick metal doors then entered.

Lounging on a couch, hood drawn up to shade her eyes but not her lips, was the contact. A small grey bat, hardly bigger than Shepard’s palm, clung to the woman’s fingers like monkey bars.

“Are you here to yell at me too?” She asked her words accented.

“No.  I’m sure Miranda covered what needed to be said.” He approached the couch opposite her, and waited for her nod before sitting down.

The woman eyed him for a moment before smiling wryly. Her hand moved the bat so that it could cling to the hair hidden in her hood. “I had such a nice game planned for you.” The woman sighed. “But you walked right past the console.”

“I noticed it.” Shepard confessed. “But it seemed like a bit too much effort.”

Disbelief seemed to freeze her for a second before she laughed. “That’s so lame.”

He shrugged and smiled blandly. “Yeah. It really is. Sorry for disappointing you, it was a rough day. “

“Shouldn’t you be use to rough days?” She asked.

“Probably. But that doesn’t mean they don’t happen.” He stood and held out his hand. “Welcome aboard Miss…”

“Goto, Kasumi Goto.”

 

\---

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm going to apologize for the absolute shit quality of this chapter. I struggled to match the tone to previous ones, and poked and prodded at it for days without it ever really sounding right. I promise the next one will be a hella lot better.
> 
> Also apologies, for not really giving Kasumi the screen time she deserves. I must admit that I never got her DLC, and though I've played through her story at friend's houses, I don't really have the character understanding, or attachment to her that I do for most of the other characters. So while she will appear in this fic, It likely, wont be as a major player.
> 
> \---  
> Known Daemons: (in order of appearance)  
> Shepard- Tamesis: dark one- English--(unknown)  
> Jacob- Adil- fair, honest- Arabic--Labrador Retriever  
> Miranda- Kamali- perfection- Arabic--Ermine  
> The Illusive Man- (name unknown)--Big Cat (breed unknown)  
> Joker- Mina- strong-willed warrior- English-- North American Raccoon  
> Zaeed – Atalaya- Arabic- watchtower --Golden Jackal  
> Chakwas Valentin-English- strong healthy --Cat, Russian Blue  
> Jack- Alligator Snapping Turtle- If Jack’s daemon has a name, it’s not sharing. Even she only calls it “Hey You.  
> Anderson-German Shepard- Asteria- Greek- Goddess of the Stars and last immortal to live with a man.  
> Kasumi- Kitti’s Hig Nosed Bat- Kazane- Japanese- sound of the wind


End file.
